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My Summer Vacation
by Chuck Pearson
Remember those "My Summer Vacation" compositions you had to write in grade school? "We went
to the lake, and I got bit by a mosquito, and we had fun." The holiday weekend I just
experienced in our "multicultural" society begs to be similarly described.
In a recent letter to VNN, I discussed a "changing" (deteriorating) neighborhood that
is filling with Mexicans and Puerto Ricans as the White residents die off or flee. My
travels took me repeatedly through that area again this past weekend.
The Hispanic writer who described alcoholism among Mex, criticizing beer companies for
exploiting it through promotions like "Drinko por Cinco" (the Cinco de Mayo
holiday) was absolutely right. The alleys in Hispanic areas are filled with case after
case of Corona beer empties, to such an astonishing extent that no one could miss it. These
people are indeed a bunch of drunks.
On Friday, I made the mistake of politely replying to a question about the finer points of
bicycling. As I spoke to one young Puerto Rican man, his sullen, inarticulate companion
spat towards me, and two others appeared, also silent, circling and examining my
bike to see if it would suit their discriminating tastes. Time to go.
On Saturday, as I cycled along, a four-year-old Mexican boy -- who lived in a beautiful
White-built brick home -- threw a rock at me. The boy's well-dressed father, who had
the boy by the hand at the time, said and did nothing.
On go the brakes. "Don't you throw rocks at me, you little son-of-a-bitch!"
Silence, a shrug.
"Is that your boy?"
"No." I-don't-comprehend shrug.
"Someone has to teach him not to throw rocks at people!"
Silence. We've taught Mex that trouble will go away if they just stand, shrug,
no-comprende long enough.
On Sunday, I saw signs advertising "Garage Sale," and stopped to look. I walked into the
garage, where there were tables of merchandise set up, and, before I knew it, there was a
lot of shouting in Spanish and a dog streaked in through the side door and bit me in the
leg! I believe that the Puerto Rican inhabitants deliberately loosed the dog on me; in
typical spic shakedown style, one woman had her story all ready that "the garage was closed,
and there was no one there, and you weren't supposed to be there."
They immediately began tearing down their sale signs and rolling down the door. I knew what
was going to happen; eight people sitting on the steps, shrugging and saying that they'd
never seen me and that nothing had occurred. "No se." (shrug)
Of course, I snatched one of their signs for proof, and called the police. When the cops
arrived, the Hispanic female officer had a nice chat with her people in their native
language. Lots of laughter. I especially enjoyed the part where the police tried to
implicate me as some sort of prowler.
Learn from the spic, the Mex, the nigger. Do whatever you want, in large groups, and stick
together. White is Right, automatically, unquestioningly, period. That's the way it's
played on the streets and in the alleys by every other race. All for one, and one for all.
Keep your mouth shut. Don't let on that you understand anything. Shrug. "I don't know.
I didn't see." Just...stand there, blinking, and wait to see what will happen next.
It works for spics -- and very well. We're not supposed to act like this, however;
police will calmly stand, acting "professional," and listen to the worst sort of cursing and
abuse from intoxicated niggers, but will jump on the least question from a White with both
feet. We're held to different standards, because Whites are the glue that holds what's left
of this society together.
We're expected to keep industriously rowing and bailing, pulling for the shore while
everyone else in the "diversity" lifeboat hoots and cavorts and splashes, trails their feet
over the side, has a food fight with the emergency rations, shoots off the rescue flares
for fun, and gets smashed on the medicinal brandy.
We support not only the people who throw rocks at us, but the police, judges, jailers,
guards, counselors, Jew psychiatrists who earn a handsome living from the worsening
situation. "Invest in crime, it's going up." It's important to all that Whites be polite
victims, setting aside our pain and suffering and getting our noses back onto the
grindstone as quickly as possible.
Friday, spit. Saturday, rocks. Sunday, dogs -- and Monday, back to work!
Is there something you don't understand, White man?
-Chuck Pearson
midsummer, 2001
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